


Uneven Ground

by burnitbright



Series: Enough [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnitbright/pseuds/burnitbright
Summary: Merlin and Gwaine getting comfortable with each other. Companion to my previous fic but can be read as a stand-alone.
Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin)
Series: Enough [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883995
Comments: 7
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it happens, Gwaine is unprepared. 

There is the sound of the door slamming, and then a series of quick steps, the rustle of sheets. And then the sinking of the bed and cold, shivering skin pressing in against him.

His first instinct is to go for his sword, his dagger, anything nearby with enough cleave or weight to detain an assailant. But the second that familiar scent hits his nose, the urge rushes from him.

Merlin. Unmistakably. 

The body that is currently trying to take up residence under Gwaine’s arm, curled in to his back, is Merlin. It has to be. He’d know that touch, that presence, anywhere.

“Merls?” He asks, groggily.

Merlin does not respond beyond a soft whimper and a further attempt at burying his face into Gwaine’s side. Gwaine is not sure what to do, so he opts for awkwardly petting Merlin's back, his elbow at an uncomfortable but not painful angle. This seems to work, a bit, as the younger man does not object, but continues to burrow his face away. 

They do not speak, but the silence is not unwelcome. It blends, quite easily, into the soft sounds of night. It takes some time for Merlin's heart beat to stop pounding into Gwaine's spine, but it does, and all the tension in Merlin's body eases.

The third time it happens, Gwaine is more prepared for it. He has caught the pattern, and forced himself to keep a silent vigil throughout the night, just in case Merlin would show. Two executions in one day is a sure sign that Merlin will need him, and he must be ready. 

Sleep pulls at him, but he pushes back against the urge to bury himself in it's warm shroud. He has not even allowed himself a sip of wine or a taste of ale. He must be awake when Merlin comes. 

His efforts are rewarded when the door creaks open sometime in the early morning, when the moon is fading but before the birds have risen. Soft footsteps pad into his room, and in comes the familiar weight of Merlin.

Gwaine forces his own body to still, and quiets the urge to turn and pull the other man into his arms. Merlin is a delicate territory right now, and the wrong move will send him running from whatever safety Gwaine can offer.

Instead, he loosens the tension in his shoulders, relaxes his hips, makes sure his breathing is steady. Small gestures, he knows, but maybe enough to quell Merlin into some kind of peace.

There’s a soft shuffling as Merlin settles, and then a hesitant weight as Merlin gently puts his arm around Gwaine. 

It takes everything in Gwaine’s power to not roll over and pull Merlin into a tight, fierce embrace. Everything not to hold on to him and never let go. Everything to slow his breathing and feign sleep. Everything to keep from running his hands down Merlin's wrists and checking for new scars. 

Everything to keep Merlin safe.

The fifth time it happens, Gwaine is as unprepared as he was the first time.

The pattern he thought he saw must be wrong. There was no execution today, no magical incidents, nothing. No indicator that he should expect company, that Merlin would need protecting from nightmares and waking fears.

But here Merlin is, curling into Gwaine’s warmth, as innocent and sweet as ever. And really, who is Gwaine to complain? A nice thing is no less nice for being unexpected, after all. And if Merlin is happy? Maybe it's alright to enjoy it as well.

The next time it happens, Merlin does not come in in the dead of night. He knocks on Gwaine's door, hesitantly, as if he’s done something wrong by giving Gwaine the relief of seeing Merlin safe and sound.

Merlin comes bearing dinner; a roast chicken, a medley of cooked vegetables, and honey-cakes for dessert. A good offering, although to be perfectly honest, Gwaine would be happy with just Merlin.

They eat, mostly in silence. Normally Gwaine would jest and joke, trying to earn a laugh from Merlin, but something about this seems to call for a softer touch, careful hands and words. Maybe it’s the way Merlin keeps stealing looks at Gwaine, ducking his head and averting his gaze every few moments. Maybe it’s the nervous tapping of the warlock’s slender fingers, the shaking of his leg.

After the meal (and after Merlin has stalled sufficiently, scraping his plate clean, unnecessarily, twice), Gwaine dares to suggest they go off to sleep. 

Merlin nods, face stone cold, and rises towards the door.

And it's too much now. 

“Merlin”, Gwaine sighs, suddenly passed the point of this game where he can continue, “Just stay here”. His words are clear, but not loud or angry. He will feel guilty for being so abrupt later, but right now he finds he cannot accept one more night of Merlin leaving when he should be _here_ , safe and tucked away in Gwaine's arms. Where he is meant to be, where no one can hurt him. 

"Please," he adds, desperation cracking through his voice.

" I have a bed," Merlin offers softly. 

"You have a bed _here_. Just...just stay, alright?" 

Merlin looks frightened, or maybe startled, or maybe Gwaine has guessed this wrong.

Or maybe not, as Merlin simply nods and moves toward the bed. He shucks off his boots, and his scarf, and slowly moves under the blankets.

Gwaine follows, mirroring Merlin. He makes sure to keep his shirt on, just in case his flesh will offend Merlin. After a few moments, he allows himself one act of bravery -or maybe it's one act of selfishness- placing an arm around Merlin’s waist and pulling the lad tight against his chest.

Merlin tenses, and then melts back into Gwaine’s arms. He lets out a heavy sigh, as if he’d been holding it in all day. And Gwaine does not have any strength left now.

He nuzzles into Merlin’s cheek, his neck, wrapping one hand around Merlin’s wrist to thumb at the pulse. One of his legs pushes between Merlin’s, and his other arm snakes under Merlin, pulling him closer.

Merlin shivers, then reaches back behind him, one hand firmly on Gwaine’s shoulder, as if to keep him there. As if Gwaine would leave.

Gwaine does not. 

The next night it happens a little backwards. 

Gwaine goes to Merlin, waiting outside Arthur’s door until the servant is dismissed. Merlin is surprised but not upset to see him, smiling shyly before hooking his arm under Gwaine’s as he is escorted to the kitchens.

The knight tries to live up to his title, keeping Merlin protected securely in his grasp, procuring their dinner for the night (which he'd charmed the cook into making specially), and walking him back to the knights quarters. They receive a few odd looks, but not much else.

At his door, Gwaine is hit by a feeling of being off kilter. He awkwardly gestures to the room, and nods when Merlin pushes through the door. He waits for the pause.

The room looks different, he knows. He’s cleared out many things, including his dresser, added more pillows and blankets. Cleaned it top to bottom, and on Gwen's advice, stuck herbs under the mattress of the blankets for that sweet, fresh smell. 

On a romantic whim, he’d even bought a carved wooden dragon to place on the windowsill, like the one he’d seen displayed in Merlin’s room. Not as well cut, but it seemed like a decent idea at the time. He only wanted it to be comfortable for Merlin, but the whole gesture seems silly now, and he shifts uncomfortably on his feet as Merlin takes it all in.

“There’s a drawer or two,” he offers after a moment of silence, “If you’d like to keep some things here.” 

Merlin stays quiet, and Gwaine feels the force of it slam into his chest. He has misjudged this and Merlin will leave, unhappy with his intensity. He has offered more than Merlin, more than anyone, would want.

But then, Merlin’s stance changes, slumping forward in relief. 

Merlin nods, head still down, and places his jacket on the dresser. Not in it, but it’s a start. 

He continues to remove clothes until he is in just his shirt and trousers, each layer of shed clothing leaving the muscles in his shoulders less and less taut. Finally, he flops, boneless, onto the bed and lets out a loud sigh of contentment. Gwaine could cry for that sound.

The knight arranges himself much less carefully that night, allowing himself to shift naturally around Merlin, who hesitates, and then turns to nuzzle into the warmth. 

“You can,” he hears himself whisper, “Anything you want.” 

He's not really sure what he's offering, and Merlin does not reply, but his arm tightens around Gwaine's body.

It’s simultaneously perfect, and not enough. Not nearly enough.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm working on a final piece of this arc with a good emotional ending for Gwaine, but I felt like I needed to flesh out his feelings around this time more, since they have sort of taken oven this series. I promise I'm adding the final piece soon, and it resolves the hurt part of this h/c.

By the time Merlin’s weekly visits have become nightly, so has Gwaine's insomnia. 

It's not Merlin's fault, really. And there's nothing wrong in Gwaine's life for the time being. In fact, it might be the best it's ever been. 

Merlin has firmly settled into Gwaine’s chambers. At long last, there is a haphazard collection of Merlin’s things, stored in an equally haphazard way, throughout the room. At this point. he can't tell whose items are really whose, and he's not sure he even wants to. 

It's lovely, but there is an ache in Gwaine chest sometimes. It grows when he looks around the room full of the man he loves, and remembers that all of this is temporary. Merlin’s boots and his neckerchiefs, and even the socks -which have too many holes to be really be _called_ socks- will be gone someday. Maybe not soon, but someday. That is certain. 

It's coming, and he can feel it like autumn approaching on the final, blissful days of summer. It's a ghostly chill that sits with him, and that shroud is looming. 

He can ignore it in the day, when he can fill the time with training, throwing himself into the work, with enough ale to kill a horse. but in the nights? 

He can't shake it. 

He knows that Merlin will fall in love. With Arthur, maybe, or someone else, but with _someone._ And any man (or woman, or whomever) with half a brain will see who he is, how wonderful he is, and will love him better than Gwaine can. 

And Merlin will forget about him. He'll be kind about it, but he will forget. 

Gwaine thinks about it every night, the fear and the apprehension growing worse each time Merlin tucks himself in beside the knight, curling in so perfectly and peacefully. And the ache returns. 

\-----------

Gwaine's mind rolls over and over on itself, trying to determine how long he has until The End. 

It shouldn't bother him like this. He has left or been turned out of a thousand places. He has lived with no place to rest his head, no one to go back to, and has survived just fine. Just because home now has a name, and and smells like sandalwood, and snuffles when it sleeps, shouldn't change anything.

But this is _Merlin_ , so it does. 

On this particular night, when he is having this particular thought, Merlin shifts in his arms, then frowns, and shakes himself awake, as if he'd had a nightmare. 

“What’s wrong?” he croaks, voice bleary with barely-broken sleep. He is looking up from his current residence, which just happens to be the place under Gwaine's arm, eyes half-lidded and pink with tiredness. 

Gwaine wants to laugh at it. Of course Merlin would ask that. Of course he'd know something was off. Probably had known for a while. Always just a bit too clever, a bit too tuned-into the workings of the universe, his Merlin. Even when half asleep. 

And he shouldn't say it, but his tongue has already been loosened by his lack of sleep and a bit of ale. And Merlin is asking so kindly, is pressed up so that his breath ghosts over Gwaine's jaw. And he's breathing so slowly and evenly that maybe he won't remember this anyway, and will write is off as some midnight spector. 

Gwaine closes his eyes tightly, and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He has to grate out the next few words, but maybe if he says them he will be free of them. 

“It’s going to break my goddamn heart when someone steals you away from me.”

The air is still, and Merlin is completely frozen in Gwaine’s arms. The warlock's muscles tense, and he is certainly not asleep, or anywhere close to it, if the sudden hammering beat coming from his chest is any indication. 

Merlin barely even breathes for the first few moments. When he finally does let out a sound, there is a tremble in his voice, and it comes out so softly that Gwaine isn't sure if he's imagining it or not.

“What if I don’t want to be stolen away?” 

Merlin swallows hard, then adds quickly and quietly, as if he is afraid of being caught speaking the words- “What if I want to stay here, with you?” 

The world is silent. It's as if every crawling, flying thing in the night has just stopped moving. Gwaine isn't sure he's even breathing right, and maybe he really did have too much ale, because Merlin cannot have just said that. 

But Merlin starts to fidget, and he must have an answer, even if this isn't real. 

“Well,” Gwaine murmurs, reaching out to rub at Merlin's arm in a way he hopes is soothing, “I suppose I’d have to keep you then.”

And apparently that is the right thing to say. Merlin makes a tiny, strangled sound, and throws himself over Gwaine with so much force that it is a miracle neither of them are injured. 

And Gwaine, ever the hedonist, lets himself give in. Just this once, he clings back to Merlin, pulls him in as if Merlin will grow roots and sprout and just _stay_ there. 

Gwaine lets himself believe it could happen. Just this once. 

\-------------

No more words are spoken that night, and they don't rattle around Gwaine's head as they have been. But they will return to him in the morning, heralded by the first songs of the birds and the ringing of the bells.

Merlin is young and naive. He is not an idiot, as Arthur always says, but he is unaware of what speaking to a man like that in his bed means.

Merlin cannot know that what he said sounds like a proposition, and Gwaine will not tell him. After all, Merlin is not looking for a lover. What he is asking for is the continued safety of Gwaine, and the continued promise that Gwaine will protect him. Nothing more. 

He will not, cannot, limit anything Merlin wants or needs by throwing his own heart into the ring. Even if it sounds so close to what he wants to hear, he cannot allow himself to think it. Merlin needs him. His own feelings cannot get in the way of that.

If- no, when- Merlin finds someone, someone kind, and sweet, and honest, and good -good in the way Gwaine never can be, not enough- Gwaine will let go with a smile on his face and a hole in his heart. 

But he will let go.


End file.
